Supernova

There's a capillary burst on my right arm. The inside of my upper arm, to be more precise. Pale yellow skin with little, sparse brownish hair and the striking red dotted cuteness against that. It looks awesome.

Or maybe like I've got the pox or rabies. Actually, what does rabies look like? Uhmm... let's say it's a skin rash. I know what a skin rash looks like.

I showed it to mom and she says it's a capillary burst. The doctor-patient conversation went like this.

Did you get hurt there?
No.
Did someone hold you very tightly?
No.
Then?
What then?
Then what happened?
Shrug.

And then she lost interest. What's with mom-doctors? How can they not know what's happened? How can they take it so lightly? Maybe a bug bit me. Maybe I'm contaminated. Maybe I will die a horrible death in the next few hours. Damn, she's my mother! She ought to be concerned, right? Right?

Well, on the other hand, or on the same hand, it does look pretty. (Hyuk. That was a bad one!)

And I finally told her I fainted. That conversation went like this.

I fainted last week.
When?!
Last week.
Where?
University.
You didn't tell me.
Shrug.

She lost interest.

Ooohh epiphany! There's a pattern here for ones who choose to see. Actually, you'd have to be blind not to. But seriously, lose the shrug, stupid. Be more involved. Result: mother-daughter, doctor-patient bonding. Voilà!